


Surrender

by irisqod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Reichenbach, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisqod/pseuds/irisqod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so I can't write BDSM to save my life. Just needed some sexy times to off-set the sad stuff I've posted recently.</p></blockquote>





	Surrender

Surrender

Sherlock had worked a case involving a series of murders in a sex club and while undercover, had gotten curious about the idea of trying a little roll play with his lover.

John had turned the idea down at first. “No, Sherlock. Its kind of, well, I don’t know. Creepy.”

Sherlock changed his mind one evening by subtly “topping from the bottom”. He talked so much during sex – about everything but sex – that John finally clapped his hand over Sherlock’s mouth to shut him up. John punctuated his overly-rough thrusts with: “Shut. Your. Pretty. Fucking. Mouth. You. Great. Brilliant. Gorgeous. Bastard!” and came roaring Sherlock’s name. Sherlock’s eyes were huge looking at John over the hand on his mouth and he came without having to be touched. That was new. 

So they had decided a little roll playing would be fine, but hey set limits; neither wanted to accidentally injure the other. They had only done this once before and Sherlock had been in charge that time. John had wound up trussed up like a Christmas goose. A very well shagged, sweaty Christmas goose.

Tonight was John’s turn. He waited for Sherlock to return from whatever errand had taken him away from the flat and as soon as he was in the door, John barked out an order:

“Strip and lie down on the floor, face up.”

Sherlock was happy to comply. He loved it when John got bossy and pulled rank on him. At least he could give his army doctor a nice show.

Slowly, Sherlock shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. Next he undid each button on his shirt while keeping eye contact with John. The look in his eyes said ‘I will do your bidding, but I will take my time doing it. And you will enjoy it more for the delay’. He undid his cuffs and literally _peeled_ the shirt off his arms and chest. His belt buckle came next. The leather came free of the belt loops with an audible swoosh-snap sound. The zipper on his trousers came down and Sherlock made sure that John heard each tooth of the zip tick as it was released. Sherlock slid the expensive bespoke trousers down and stepped out of them, pushing off his shoes in the process.

He looked rather ridiculous, now, standing in the middle of the sitting room in nothing but his socks, with his stiff prick tenting out the front of his pants. There was a damp spot starting to bloom where the rounded tip met the fabric. It was glossy and John wanted to rub his cheek on it.

“Pants and socks too. All of it. Off.” John commanded.

Sherlock put his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and bent to remove them, but he never looked away from John’s face. 

He was willing to give up his control to John when they played, but he would not give up eye contact. He needed the connection. So, no blindfolds. That was one of their limits. 

The pants were tossed aside with the socks. Sherlock lay down on the floor, face up as requested.

“Hands just above your head, palms up.” 

Sherlock stretched out before John and arched his back off the floor like a cat in warm sunlight.

“Knock it off and hold still. I can see what you are trying to do. Stop trying to run this.” John circled the naked form of his love and stopped with one foot on either side of his head. John was wearing his boots, dog tags and an old pair of fatigues left over from his days of service. “Tonight you are mine and I will give the orders.”

Sherlock tried to grasp John’s claves with his hands, but John stepped back out of the way and then stepped lightly onto Sherlock’s upturned fingers. John wasn’t resting his entire weight on the fingers, he was just pinning Sherlock to the floor with the toes of his boots.

”I didn’t say you could touch me, did I?”

Sherlock whimpered, “No, John.”

“And now you can’t touch yourself either.” John was looking down at Sherlock and grinning.

“You are going to hold still and watch me. If you are good, I will let you come too.”

He loomed over Sherlock and undid his fatigues. He was hard and being confined was making him ache. John took out his cock and gave it a stroke.

“Oh, John. That’s lovely,” Sherlock purred from the floor.

“Shh. I didn’t say you could speak either. Don’t make me put a gag on you.” He stroked himself again. “Will you be good?” 

Sherlock nodded.

“Alright then.” He started jerking himself whilst standing over Sherlock. He had planned on just going hell for leather and coming all over Sherlock’s pale skin. He still felt a little odd with this and he wanted to be done. But he found that he couldn’t stop his mouth.

It was as if by enforcing Sherlock’s silence, he’d awoken his own tongue.

“God, Sherlock. The things you do to me.” He sighed as he pulled on his cock. “You infuriate me and I love you for it. I let you keep all sorts of vile things in the flat. I let you drag me out of bed at all hours to chase clues. I must be mad.” He was leaking and he worked the moisture over the head, sliding his fingers over the exposed glans and down the shaft. He shuddered. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Rare. Precious. Strong. Delicate.” John was slowly working his foreskin over the head of his cock and he dripped a little pre-come onto Sherlock’s chin. Sherlock’s tongue snaked out of his mouth in an attempt to lick it off.

“Do you see what you do to me? How turned on I get for you? God I love to fuck you, that tight body of yours. _Christ._ ” Sherlock was looking up at him with rapt attention and nodded. His own erection bobbed from its nest of dark curls against his smooth belly.

“I’m going to move my feet, and you are not going to touch that gorgeous hard dick of yours. Right?”

Sherlock nodded again. He wanted to be good and not touch himself. John had asked him to be good. For John, he would be so good.

“I tried so long to tell myself I wasn’t in love with you. What a fool I was.” John’s skin was beginning take on a rosy flush and sweat had started to bead on his upper lip and at his hairline. “So much wasted time.” He started to stroke faster and the movement of his hand and arm was making his dog tags rattle together. “I am yours. Always. All ways.” John drew in a breath between his teeth, “Sssss. Do you see, Sherlock? Oh God.” 

Sherlock did. He watched as John pumped his fist on his rigid cock with long deliberate strokes. He watched as the rosy flush turned deeper red and covered his chest. He could see John’s balls, tensed up against his body. He could see John’s eyes watching him back; the dark blue of deep ocean water. Sherlock couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“John.” It was less than a whisper, but John heard.

“Oh fuck, Sherlock, see? _See_?!” And John threw his head back in a silent, open-mouthed scream and came in a long stream that splashed onto Sherlock’s pale stomach and thighs. His hips pumped in involuntary spasms, driving his cock through his curled hand.

His legs gave up on him and he dropped to the floor, planting one knee on either side of Sherlock’s head. He pitched forward and braced on his right arm, still working his prick gently with the other.

“May I touch you?” Sherlock asked in another whisper. 

All John could do was nod. Sherlock reached up and kissed John’s hand, not minding the come that had dribbled over his knuckles. He placed his arms around John’s hips to steady him and to lay him down next to him.

“Oh, my God, Sherlock.” John’s was breathing hard. He let go of himself and slung his left arm over his lover’s body, resting his head on Sherlock’s hip, not caring about the mess he’d made. “Are you alright, I didn’t hurt your hands did I?”

“I’m fine. That was astounding. You are lovely to watch.” Sherlock stroked John’s back and brought his hand to his mouth to taste the sweat. He poked out his tongue and licked his palm. He dragged the fingers of his other hand through the cooling semen on his legs and tasted that also. “You taste lovely too.”

“You will be the end of me, I think. But I’m going to enjoy the journey.” John chuckled a bit and kissed the hip he was using for a pillow. “What can I do for you, love?”

“May I touch myself now?” He asked. 

“Please. Yes please.”

Sherlock gathered up some more of the come that was on his body and used it to slick his cock. The wet sound of it sliding in his fist made John groan.

“I would do this, thinking of you, while I was away.” Sigh. “I did it here too, when we moved back home.” He sped up a little. “I even snuck into your room once and did it on your bed.” Sherlock's breath was getting a little ragged and his pale skin was starting to pink-up.

“I would imagine you sucking me off.” He couldn’t stop the groan that escaped his lips at the thought. “Or thrusting into me,” He paused to take one of John’s hands. He drew the fingers into his mouth and sucked, rolling his tongue. “Would you put a finger in me?” He opened his legs and drew up his knees to give John access. 

John scooted down a little so he could get himself under Sherlock’s raised right knee. He went one better and used his tongue to tease Sherlock’s balls while he worked in one finger. Once seated, he bent it, just so, and brushed against the bundle of tissue he found there. Sherlock jumped and squeezed down on the finger inside him.

“There?” John asked, knowing it was a rhetorical question. 

“Oh, yes.” Sherlock’s hand slowed to match John slow pace.

“Close, love?” John asked. He resumed what he’d been doing with his tongue, gently taking each of Sherlock’s testicles into his mouth by turns.

“Was I good, John?” Sherlock had stopped stroking himself and was obviously concentrating on holding back his orgasm. He moved his hand to John’s hip. John was confused by the question, at first. ”What? Ohh, right.” 

_If you are good, I will let you come too_.

“Yes, love. You were so very good. You can come now. I want you too.”

Sherlock drew in a breath and let it out, sighing, “Oh yes, thank you John.” 

His untouched cock stood out from his body in a lovely arched curve. John adored the way it looked - the head flushed and glistening. John could see the fluid gathering at the tip.

Sherlock still wasn’t touching his penis, he was simply rocking himself on John’s single digit. 

“Oh God, Sherlock,” John realized what was going to happen. He left his finger where it was, not changing his rhythm. He didn’t want to break Sherlock’s concentration.

Sherlock drew in another deep breath, held it a moment and started to come. He arched off the floor as his cock pulsed and the semen began to surge out of him. As he exhaled, he cried out John’s name in a long moan of surrender. Surrender to the release, to John’s touch. Surrender of his control to the man who loved him. As he fell apart, he knew that John would always, always be there to catch him.

As Sherlock’s orgasm subsided, John withdrew carefully and moved to hold him.

Wrapped in each other’s arms on the hard floor, they shared a kiss.

“Let’s go to bed. I’m too old and you are too thin to sleep on the floor.” John stood and helped Sherlock to his feet.

Once they were tucked up in their bed, warm under the duvet, they both fell asleep wondering what the other would think of trying next.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I can't write BDSM to save my life. Just needed some sexy times to off-set the sad stuff I've posted recently.


End file.
